Martin Doul. There’s a person walking above…. It’s Molly Byrne, I’m thinking, coming down with her can.

Timmy. If she is itself let you not be idling this day, or minding her at all, and let you hurry with them sticks, for I’ll want you in a short while to be blowing in the forge.

He throws down pot-hooks.

Martin Doul (crying out). Is it roasting me now you’d be? (Turns back and sees pot-hooks; he takes them up.) Pot-hooks? Is it over them you’ve been inside sneezing and sweating since the dawn of day?

Timmy (resting himself on anvil, with satisfaction). I’m making a power of things you do have when you’re settling with a wife, Martin Doul; for I heard tell last night the Saint’ll be passing again in a short while, and I’d have him wed Molly with myself. … He’d do it, I’ve heard them say, for not a penny at all.

Martin Doul (lays down hooks and looks at him steadily). Molly’ll be saying great praises now to the Almighty God and He giving her a fine, stout, hardy man the like of you.

Timmy (uneasily). And why wouldn’t she, if she’s a fine woman itself?

Martin Doul (looking up right). Why wouldn’t she, indeed, Timmy? … The Almighty God’s made a fine match in the two of you, for if you went marrying a woman was the like of yourself you’d be having the fearfullest little children, I’m thinking, was ever seen in the world.

Timmy (seriously offended). God forgive you! if you’re an ugly man to be looking at, I’m thinking your tongue’s worse than your view.

Martin Doul (hurt also). Isn’t it destroyed with the cold I am, and if I’m ugly itself I never seen anyone the like of you for dreepiness this day, Timmy the smith, and I’m thinking now herself’s coming above you’d have a right to step up into your old shanty, and give a rub to your face, and not be sitting there with your bleary eyes, and your big nose, the like of an old scarecrow stuck down upon the road.

Timmy (looking up the road uneasily). She’s no call to mind what way I look, and I after building a house with four rooms in it above on the hill. (He stands up.) But it’s a queer thing the way yourself and Mary Doul are after setting every person in this place, and up beyond to Rathvanna, talking of nothing, and thinking of nothing, but the way they do be looking in the face. (Going towards forge.) It’s the devil’s work you’re after doing with your talk of fine looks, and I’d do right, maybe, to step in and wash the blackness from my eyes.

He goes into forge. Martin Doul rubs his face furtively with the tail of his coat. Molly Byrne comes on right with a water-can, and begins to fill it at the well.

Martin Doul. God save you, Molly Byrne.

Molly Byrne (indifferently). God save you.

Martin Doul. That’s a dark, gloomy day, and the Lord have mercy on us all.

Molly Byrne. Middling dark.

Martin Doul. It’s a power of dirty days, and dark mornings, and shabby-looking fellows (he makes a gesture over his shoulder) we do have to be looking on when we have our sight, God help us, but there’s one fine thing we have, to be looking on a grand, white, handsome girl, the like of you … and every time I set my eyes on you I do be blessing the saints, and the holy water, and the power of the Lord Almighty in the heavens above.